


Moments of Insanity

by ASadWeeGhostie



Series: For The Sake of Law and Order [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Anger, Dirty Thoughts, Dominant Molly Hooper, F/M, Light BDSM, Riding Crops, Sexual Tension, light touching, submissive Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASadWeeGhostie/pseuds/ASadWeeGhostie
Summary: "Who hit you,"The words ring in the air, not a question. It's a statement of barely contained fury.-Molly finds out about Irene's riding crop. Sherlock discovers her displeasure.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: For The Sake of Law and Order [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010976
Comments: 17
Kudos: 65





	Moments of Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after the first meeting of Irene and Sherlock in Season 2, Episode 1, A Scandal in Belgravia

"Who hit you," 

The words ring in the air, not a question. It's a statement of barely contained fury. He blinks at her, a tiny ball of fury in an ugly jumper. He knows that one: it always has cat hair on the corner. It's Molly's favourite and her friday sweater. It's the most hideous thing he's ever seen, but he does admit the green stripes only highlight the brown of her eyes, the pink giving a soft flush to her mouth. Or he would, if he noticed those things. But he doesn't, eyes flicking to meet hers which stare up at him in unbridled fury. 

"Sherlock," it’s just little, mousy Molly Hooper, her hands curling into fists by her sides as she stares up at him. The palms of her hands are a stark white around her nails. He's almost tempted to tell her to unclench for fear she'll hurt herself, but he bites his tongue, almost unnerved by her. Again. Her mouth splits, angry and harsh as she hisses at him like a pissed off cat, "Who.  _ Hit _ . You,"

His mouth parts a little unbidden, as...as something akin to lust almost coils, low in his belly. His logical side screams at him to be repelled because it's  _ Molly  _ and he respects  _ Molly  _ and has never viewed  _ Molly  _ in a sexual-

She grips the scarf with one small hand and his chin with the other before yanking him down to her level. It’s exactly then he abandons all thoughts of not sexualising Molly Hooper. Her mouth is a little small, yes, but he never said he didn't like it. He really likes it right now, especially when it’s pursed in anger and getting redder. Her eyes are big, brown and alight with pure fury at the thought that someone has deliberately hit him (and admittedly, he did actually kind of enjoy that part if anyone asks, not that he would honestly answer). He should ultimately be charmed by her, but instead he finds himself more aroused than he has been in years.

Like always, Molly Hooper has somehow left him on the other foot.

"A-a-a w-omen," he manages to stutter, feeling heat envelop his face. It curls up his cheekbones, and his eyelids flutter in pleasure-pain as her fingers curl deliberately into the bruise just under his collar. It aches in a way that makes his fingers clench, soft gasp escaping him. Molly doesn't say anything. He opens his eyes again, staring at her to find the anger hasn't receded but instead burns hotter. Her mouth purses, her fingers freeing his chin to curl in his hair. His eyes close again, pleasure hitting him like a freight train as she scratches into his scalp. He's never before felt more like a cat: he’s almost purring at her as he practically melts. What is  _ happening  _ to him? He probably couldn’t make an observation if he wanted to but his mind...is almost quiet for once. It’s relaxing and...easy. He’s left drifting in a hazy land of pleasure as she just continues to scratch her nails through his hair.

"A woman," Molly muses, sounding amused but a hard tone colouring the edge. It’s jealousy, he notes faintly. He wonders if it’s with jealousy over the act or over him in general. Either way he’s left a little bit nervous, "With her riding crop?"

He lazily opens his eyes again, dragging over the soft curve of her hips, past the still hideous jumper she chooses to wear to the swell of her breasts. There are many observations, so many...but he can't think of any past the desire to see the colour of her nipples. He wonders if they'll be as pink as the bow of her mouth, how red they'd turn if he pressed his mouth to him. And isn't that a charming thought that -surprisingly- both of his heads are in agreement with?

His tongue wets his lips, anticipation making him want to squirm but when Molly's hand tightens in his curls he knows he's been caught. It's a warning to her prey: a mouse caught in her claws. Sherlock has never begged for mercy in his life, and he doesn't plan to start now. He trails over her face, waiting, watching for her next remark. Her eyes are unfocused, thinking before it slips out of her mouth like water from an overflowing glass. "I'd like to see how you looked under mine,"

There is a pause, where he watches the pupils of her eyes dilate even as a flush covers her face, highlighting the angle of her cheekbones in a way that makes him want to recite math until he's written equations about the exact slope and the formula as to why it makes him desire her. But instead all he manages is, "Maybe you should inspect the bruises left,"

He almost winces, a stupid line out of his mouth. What is with him and women at the moment? He'd like to blame it all on Adler but...but Molly has always been a thorn in his side, a soft and gentle woman that makes him a little uncomfortable. Turns out it's in more ways than one. And now he's stuck staring at her lips, waiting for her to answer but also waiting for something else. The air is thick with tension, hot and warm under his collar and his skin burns where she touches him. He leans just a little more into her, feels her hand press harder against the bruise which sends electric shocks down his spine and-

The bang of the door springs them apart, jumping to different parts of the room within seconds. Molly looks barely ruffled, but there is still a telltale blush on her cheeks and Sherlock feels...feels like his skin is too tight for his body. His blood pumps through his veins, pumps a little too hard in one area that forces him to lean hard against the desk and pray it goes down. He turns his head with a sharp nod and a quick, "Thank you, Molly," as John saunters into the room.

Just a moment of insanity. Nothing more. Nothing less.

It won’t happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments mean the world to me. Please don't be afraid to reach out if I have missed a tag.


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